The story of Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley
by Lovegood97
Summary: With the help of someone's incredibly awesome reasons to why Ron and Hermione belong together, I'll tell a short story about the events the reasons take place in.


**Author's note:** Hi again. I was in the middle of writing an essay which is due on sunday when I got this brilliant idea for a story. About a year ago I found this wonderful, marvelous and splendid text where someone had written a list with proof that Ron and Hermione belong together. And so my idea is that I'll pick a few of these statements and write a oneshot for them. I hope you'll find them enjoyable, and I really hope you can ignore my awful english.

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own the characters or the environment, because everything you recognize belong to the queen herself, Joanne Rowling. Neither do I own the "reason" why Ron and Hermione belong together, the sentences which are in cursive below. I do not know who wrote them in the first place, but the credit goes to that amazing person!

_Because she kissed him on the cheek to wish him luck before his first Quidditch match. _  
_Because he was actually dazed after she did this._

He had awoken sometime around 5 am this morning, according to the lingering darkness outside his window and the deep, peaceful snoring that could be heard from Neville, Seamus, Dean and Harry. Usually he was a heavy sleeper and stayed in his warm, comfy bed as long as he could, but not today. As soon as his eyelids had raised from his electric, blue eyes he had been wide awake with his thoughts spinning around with similar messages. "I'm rubbish.". "What made me do this.?". "How in the world could this be a great idea.?". "This will presumably become the worst game I've ever attended.". The only thing he seemed to be capable of was to sit straight and stiff in his bed, his arms around his knees and with his gaze fixed at the opposite wall, his mind somewhere far away. After several hours, when the sun had risen and revealed a bright and cold day, Harry awoke to find his friend pale and stiff as a statue. With concern written all over his face he fixed his bright, green eyes, so much like his mother's, and asked his best friend with a voice that was still sleepy.  
"You all right?"  
Ron could barley move, even less talk, which resulted in a rigid nod.  
"You just need some breakfast", Harry's voice encouraged him. "C'mon."

Somehow Ron ended up in the Great Hall, which was filling up fast with students who were chatting excitedly about the match. He couldn't for the world remember how he moved from his dorm to the breakfast tables and he was still pretty dazed, which probably was good since the Slytherins laughed loudly at their table while they pointed at him. When they reached the table clad in red and gold Ron felt very sick and collapsed on the nearest bench. For the first time this morning he managed to say something.  
"I must've been mental to do this._ Mental_." His face was hollow and pale, and his voice wasn't any better. The only thing he wished at that moment was the ground to open a hole and devour him whole.  
"Don't be thick", Harry told him, while giving him some cereals he thought he would eat, "you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous."  
"But I'm rubbish. I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?" Ronald could barley remember a moment when he had felt more miserable, never.  
"Get a grip", Harry said encouragingly, "Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant."  
Nope, he had been wrong. He had never even known the meaning of the word miserable until_ now_.  
"That was an accident", he croaked. "I didn't mean to do it - I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident."  
Ron saw in the corner of his eyes how Harry tried to change his expression fast from unpleasant surprised to cheerful.  
"Well", he said, "a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?"  
Somewhere along those lines Ron tuned out and his gaze got stuck in his bowl with soaking wet and squashy cereals and he tried hard to not thing of the oncoming game. He barley noticed when Luna Lovegood showed up, wearing an outstanding lion hat. Instead he thought of ways to flee the field and, in doing so, avoid the game. Unfortunately he couldn't come up with an idea and ended up being dragged from the table by Harry, who had realized that his friend couldn't and wouldn't eat.

Suddenly Harry was gone, and Ron found himself stand all by himself without a clue what to do. He had never felt so lost, worried or cheerless in his life, and things didn't become better when his friend disappeared. Then he heard someone walking towards him, and without looking up from the floor he could easily tell who it was, because of the sound her shoes made when they touched the ground and the way she smelled. Her scent was wonderful, like flowers in the summer and a small hint of vanilla. Suddenly, his view was filled with a big, brown frizzy hair which he had for a long time longed to touch.  
"Good luck, Ron", Hermione said and without warning he felt something warm and wet and incredibly soft on his cheek. Her lips. Her lovely, appealing, red lips. His hand slowly raised to the level of his cheek and carefully touched the place her mouth had been seconds ago. His eyes found hers and as he stared at her, puzzled, a beautiful pink blush spread across her face, and she quickly turned towards Harry to wish him good luck.

As he and Harry trotted out of the Great Hall, the environment around him became more clear than before. He heard the chatting students, the scraping of knifes and forks against the plates and the roaring which came from Luna's terrific hat. He could make out everything clearly, from the sky in the ceiling to the colours of each of the four houses. But as he and Harry made their way down the hill towards the Quidditch field, the thing he focused on wasn't the wind blowing in his face, nor his friend talking at his side. No, it was a special spot on his cheek he felt the most, a spot which was a little bit warmer and more important than the rest of his face. And suddenly, he wasn't so nervous anymore.

**Last note**: I am forever grateful if you've taken your time to read this, and if you would leave a review you are my hero for the rest of my life. You are truly the best! Bye. x


End file.
